


That Accursed Scar

by SherlockMalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Gen, M/M, Mention of past relationships, Mentions of Character Death, Reincarnation, character rambling, first person POV, mentions of past lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: Draco's internal monologue about his past lives with Harry and the ways they've died.





	That Accursed Scar

**Author's Note:**

> This was a drabble that inspired a larger story that went unfinished titled "A Dreamer's Bond" which I posted under the username _hallowedmarks_ on FFN.
> 
> "A Dreamer's Bond" is a story about soul marks, reincarnation, and recovering memories of past lives through shared dreams.

  
    The scar.  
    The scar.  
    That bloody awful scar.  
    In every life, in every way, on every part of the body - I have seen that scar on you.  
    The cursed lightning bolt that sealed our fates. The deadly kiss of prophecy.  
    You've always died in battle, you know.  
    Always died before me, too.  
    In our first life, I was a princess. Fifty years your senior and kept young by the magic in my blood. You were a half-blood then, as you are now. Beget at Beltane of an incest bond between Morgana and her half-brother Arthur. A royal bastard, but a loyal knight. Until the Dark Witch came.  
    You fought her then, as you fought the Dark Lord now. And you were marked then - with that bloody awful scar.  
    She cast her killing curse and it caught you in the side.  
    It was the power of prophesy that saved you, and the binding of my magic to your own. Though we did not know it then as we know it now.  
    You died as Arthur plunged Excalibur into your body, and you drove Bloodfyre through his.  
    It was the Dark Witch that killed me without mercy or remorse.  
    The gifts I gave you before the battle were passed to your sons. This much I know history at least tried to preserve, though how your gruesome death in battle became the personification of Death itself is a mystery even to me.  
    In another life we did not live long enough to feel our matching marks burn through our flesh, signaling that we were bound.  
    Two dark witches running for our lives as the dark lord disguised as a muggle led the hunt to bring us back to our muggle masters.  
    I think... I think it was this life that soured me on muggles and muggleborns for so long. When no one was looking, he cast the green death curse at me... but you had jumped in the way to save my life.  
    They threw your naked body on the pyre to which I was tied. The lightning scar on your breast was the last thing I saw before my vision went. They never heard my screams.  
    Because in that life, I was mute.  
    Our love was tragic. Always doomed.  
    The three of us cycling through lives together. You. Me. And the Dark Lord.  
    We weren't always alone though.  
    Souls have a way of recognizing one another sometimes, though rarely do they remember their pasts if at all. I've never met anyone who can do what we can do when their marks settle in, my love.  
    We've seen Merlin often. And Arthur, too. Morgana and Morgause from time to time. The lives where we meet Lord Ambrose again, the First Malfoy, are never pleasant.  
    Lancelot returns rarely.  
    The last time we saw him was one of my favorite, though one of the longer and sadder lifetimes we've had.  
    There were four of us.. once. You, me, Lancelot, and surprsingly Ygraine. You had red hair then. And a booming presence. Lancelot was a fair maiden, but that did not dim his fierce intelligence and wit. Ygraine though... I had never met her before. I remember getting into great arguments with her - though at the time we all had other names. I'm sure you remember them quite clearly from our school days.  
    In that life we met as young teens. You were with your muggle friends, stealing from my father's crops. I hexed a tomato and threw it at your head. Your mother was forced to bring you to us so that my father could remove the hex. I hated you so much then, but as we grew older we became friends. In time, I grew to love you even as the muggles and our kind had started to separate themselves. It broke my heart when you accepted the marriage contract and married Lady Elena. By then, you knew that I was yours and you were mine. The green snake on your chest with Vivian's brand told you as much when it had come in.  
    You told me to use potions to force myself to love another. It was Lady Elena that drove me to the unyielding hatred of muggles and muggleborn in the end. Already I had an instinctual distrust of them but it was she who finished me off on the idea for many lifetimes to come. She was the reason for the basilisk. I left it behind in the hope that it killed her before she killed you.  
    You died so young for a wizard. Early sixties.  
    The curse she used stopped your heart and left no trace if one did not know what to look for.  
    The lightning bolt was on your chest. In the center of the soul mark that bound you to me.  
    I killed Lady Elena with your sword, a gift I had given you for your age day when you became a man in the eyes of magic. Today they call it the Sword of Gryffindor. But to me it will always be Bloodfyre, the sword forged by the dread witch Siobhan herself for Mordred Pendragon. A sword of power. A sword of prophecy.  
    Fitting, then, that it was this sword which played a role in the destruction of the horcruxes. The same sword forged for you so long ago, finding it's way back to it's true master.  
    Though I must admit, I wish I had been there to see Galahad pull it from the Sorting Hat.  
    When Godric was murdered, I grieved for the rest of that life. All color from the world had faded, and my hatred of muggles and muggleborns grew into the beast and the legend that to this day dominates the legacy of Slytherin. My wife in that lifetime, once learning what great darkness had broken my soul, offered me the use of what we now call the Resurrection Stone. A relic in her family going all the way back to her ancestor, Cadmus Peverell. I must admit I used the stone to try and summon the spirit of Godric if only to say what I had never been able to say. But you did not come when called. My heart grew black after that. Angry. Bitter. Hateful.  
    Lady Peverell died childless. I remarried the young witch Lady Gwent to produce an heir. Though I did not love Lady Peverell as a husband should, I had kept the ring in which she had the Stone placed, and kept it close. I held great respect for her, and the affection one may have for a sister.  
    Our lives after the doomed love of Godric and Salazar we did not bear the marks. For we were muggles. Without the marks binding us, we did not find one another in our next lives. Once, we met and died in a wizard's duel. In the end we spoke our spells at the same moment. I struck you with lightning and you slit my throat with a cutting curse. We were both under the Imperius. Forced to fight against our will for the entertainment of a muggle king at the behest of his chief magical advisor. He found you first in that life. You know who it was. He always finds you. Every life. And He always gives you that accursed scar.  
    You died first and I bled out in the arena after.  
    Our history after the arena is a series of what muggles call missed connections. Our paths would cross often; drawn like moths to flame. But we were often broken apart by a series of unfortunate events. Dark wizards and witches. Muggles of the religious zealot variety. Each time that I did witness your death, though, your corpse bore the lightning scar in some form or fashion. We stopped finding our friends and contemporaries after that. Arthur and Merlin had not returned for centuries. But something changed during the lives we had before this one.  
    Before you were Potter and I was Malfoy.  
    The stalemate was broken. Guenevere had finally discovered a way to escape the endless cycle of life and death. It was this that called them back. According to muggle versions of the Camelot legends, Arthur would return when his kingdom needed him most. And he did, as did some of his most trusted and loyal knights. Just... not in the way anyone expected them to.  
    Arthur, Merlin, Gawain, Percival, even Morgana, who's sour disposition and flare for the dramatic followed her into this life... Billowing robes and all.  
    Arthur and Merlin finally got their happy ending, though they did not get to enjoy it for long.  
    It is fitting, then, that we were all born as the last of the great bloodlines we begat. The houses of Eire, Pendragon, and Gwent. Malfoy, Potter, and Gaunt.  
    Voldemort's horcruxes broke the natual order. There had only been one instance of a horcrux before. And for good reason. Only a Master of Death can defeat one who's soul has been split. But in doing so they sacrifice their own mortality. If I had known then what I know now, I would never have left your side after the Room of Requirement. I would never have let you strike the killing blow. You of all people deserve to be reunited with your loved ones. Not to be burdened with eternal life through the ages. Alone and friendless.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't worked it out yet:
> 
> Marauders era...  
> Arthur Pendragon = James Potter  
> Merlin = Lily Evans  
> MorganaPendragon = Severus Snape  
> Sir Gawain = Sirius Black  
> Sir Percival = Remus Black
> 
> Founders Era...  
> Godric Gryffindor = Harry Potter (Mordred Pendragon)  
> Salazar Slytherin = Draco Malfoy (Lady Viviene of Eire)  
> Helga Hufflepuff = Ygraine duBoise (King Arthur's mum)  
> Roweena Ravenclaw = Sir Lancelot  
> Lady Elena, Wife of Godric = Tom Riddle/Voldemort (Guenevere)
> 
> Lady Elena hid her magic and presented herself as a muggle. She was really a muggleborn.
> 
> Modern Era...  
> Neville Longbottom = Sir Galahad


End file.
